


consolation prize

by youcouldmakealife



Series: it's a setup [27]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, YCMAL 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27213295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: He kind of wants to do the manifesting through hand-holding thing with Scratch again, but that’s silly and superstitious and also they have already manifested this win. Joey tries to skip his eyes over the empty space of Playoff Willy’s stall, meets Scratch’s eye across the room. They share a nod, small and grim and determined. They’re going to fucking win this.
Relationships: OMC/OMC
Series: it's a setup [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669567
Comments: 65
Kudos: 441





	consolation prize

Joey feels like he’s going to shake apart when they take the ice for warm-ups before Game Seven. He focuses on his stride, makes sure it’s even, conserving his energy, trying to find the meditative place inside him. Usually he’d manage it, get back to the room feeling a little stiller. Not this time. His family’s in the crowd. Scratch’s family. Maggie and Owen. Playoff Willy in his sling, probably with the most determined expression in the world on his face, like he can make them win it with his Playoff Will alone.

He kind of wants to do the manifesting through hand-holding thing with Scratch again, but that’s silly and superstitious and also they have already manifested this win. Joey tries to skip his eyes over the empty space of Playoff Willy’s stall, meets Scratch’s eye across the room. They share a nod, small and grim and determined. They’re going to fucking win this.

*

The one consolation about losing the Stanley Cup at home for the second straight year is that Joey doesn’t have to pile on a plane with everyone after, he can just get in his car and go straight home. 

That’s it.

That’s the only one.

The worst part is how it wasn’t even close. It wasn’t his heart wrenching in OT, or a buzzer beater, it was death by a thousand cuts, the Senators ahead by two at the start of the second, ahead by three halfway through the third. The worst part was how quiet it was in the arena during the final minutes, the way that when Joey looked into the crowd before he jumped on the ice for his final shift he saw empty seats. The way the building felt resigned.

Joey punches his steering wheel twice, and doesn’t feel better at all. He probably shouldn’t be driving, and his parents would give him a lift, or he could get an Uber, or —

He doesn’t think he can talk to anyone right now without losing it, so that’s out.

He takes a breath, another, until they’re a little less shaky and he has his shit together enough to get home safely.

His phone buzzes the whole way home. Buzz after buzz, like nails on a chalkboard, under his skin. He turns it on do not disturb the second he parks without bothering to look at any of the notifications. He knows what they all say. ‘Sorry you’re a fucking loser again, Munroe’. He knows they’re trying to be kind, but it’s too much.

Joey sits down on his couch. Stares at his blank TV, before getting up and getting a glass of water. Considers exchanging that glass of water with a gigantic cup of vodka, but what’s that going to help? Then he’ll just be miserable _and_ hungover tomorrow. He drinks his water and considers whether he should just go to bed. Hide under the covers. He won’t sleep, but — he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do with this. 

Last year him and Scratch got miserably plastered and talked shit about every single member of the Washington Capitals until they had exhausted the anger and got drained — and drunk — enough to fall asleep. That’s probably not in the cards this year, especially considering Scratch isn’t comfortable drinking with Joey, for understandable reasons. Though Drunk Joey would probably just weep uncontrollably right now.

His phone buzzes, which means it’s Scratch or his parents, who are the only exceptions on his do not disturb. Scratch in case Joey sleeps in since they carpool — though it’s not like he wouldn’t just use the key to Joey’s place — his parents in case it’s a family emergency, because usually he’s the one who calls them. It’s probably his mom or dad. Joey really doesn’t want to talk to them right now, but he sighs and glances at it anyway.

_can I barge in_ , Scratch has texted. _please_

_yeah_ , Joey texts back. He wouldn’t be able to handle anyone else, but he wants Scratch here. Needs him here, honestly. He thinks that probably means something.

He thinks that probably means a really important thing.

Scratch is knocking within a minute, like he’d been waiting for Joey to say yes. The thought hurts, but in a weirdly good way. He thinks that probably says something important too.

Joey goes to the door, opens it, because obviously Scratch has a key, but he thinks the invitation’s necessary.

“I really need a hug right now,” Scratch says.

“Come here,” Joey says, and Scratch kicks off his shoes and folds himself into Joey’s arms.

“Sorry,” Scratch mumbles.

“What the fuck are you apologizing for,” Joey says.

“I dunno,” Scratch says. “Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” Joey says. 

“Okay,” Scratch says, and when he pulls away it feels like he’s gone too soon. He looks absolutely miserable, eyes puffy, curls still damp, like he booked it as soon as he could, same as Joey, a slump to his shoulders that’s as resigned as this whole night’s been. Joey loves him so much it’s almost painful.

“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” Joey asks.

Except that’s not really the right question.

“Could you sleep here tonight?” Joey asks. “Please?”

“Like—” Scratch says.

“Like,” Joey says. “Yeah.”

“Guest room, or—” Scratch says.

“No,” Joey says.

“Joey,” Scratch says.

“I don’t want you to think I’m doing this because I’m sad and it’s like me using you for comfort or something, because it’s not,” Joey says. “We’re just — you’ll be going back to Toronto in a few days and maybe I’d be one-hundred percent sure after the summer but maybe then the whole disengaging thing would have worked and you’d be over me and I’d kick myself for the rest of my life because I’m pretty fucking positive you’re like, the person I need in my life forever in like every single way, so. Yeah. Can you sleep here?”

“I need you to be one-hundred percent sure, Money,” Scratch says.

“I’m like ninety-nine point nine,” Joey says. “Does that work?”

Scratch chews on his lip and Joey is _really_ tempted to dramatically swoop in with a kiss right now, which probably means he’s at 99.99%.

“Point nine nine,” Joey says. “Like — like one game away from contention with over a month of season still ahead of us, could lose every game and almost certainly still be in the playoffs. That sure.”

“President’s Trophy didn’t win us the Cup,” Scratch says. “The standings don’t mean shit.”

“Next year,” Joey says. “I fucking swear it.”

“You can’t promise me a Cup,” Scratch says.

“I am promising you a Cup,” Joey says. “I will score every goal with my goddamn teeth to get you a Cup.”

“You can’t afford to lose any more teeth,” Scratch says.

“I would lose all my teeth for you,” Joey says.

“Really gross declaration of love, Money,” Scratch says.

The man is not wrong.

“I am an absolute failure of a human being,” Joey says. “You already know this about me and love me anyway, which is fucking weird.”

“You’re fucking weird,” Scratch says.

“ _You’re_ fucking—” 

It turns out Scratch is on board with the ‘dramatically shut someone up with a kiss’ plan.

Joey freezes at first — turns out it’s hard to kiss someone who’s just startled you — and just when he gets over the startled feeling he remembers that — fuck, he didn’t bother to put his teeth in. Joey should definitely have put his teeth in, he should pull away and go grab them so Scratch doesn’t have to literally kiss a toothless man except he doesn’t want Scratch to get the wrong idea and think that Joey is anti-dramatic shutting up with a kiss because he isn’t, he’s not anti-anything to do with Scratch. Like. Ever.

“Um,” Joey says when Scratch pulls back. His eyes are very dark, and his curls are trying to escape the mortal coil again, and Joey will be sad to see the end of his playoff beard because it looks terrific on him. He is unspeakably handsome right now, even exhausted at the end of a long, horrible day.

“Was that okay?” Scratch asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Joey says. “Just letting you know in advance I’m probably a better kisser when my teeth are in.”

“Better not lose all of them getting me a Cup, then,” Scratch says.

“Also when I’m not taken aback because you did the dramatic kissing to shut me up thing,” Joey says. “What a cliche.”

“Cliche or not you’re probably going to have to get used to it,” Scratch says. “You talk a lot of shit and I frequently want you to shut up.”

Joey feels like — warm. Very warm. Also offended. And Scratch talks a lot of shit too so he better not think he gets dibs on the dramatic kissing to shut him up thing just because he did it first, that one-hundred percent needs to be a shared thing.

“A hundred,” Joey says. “For the record. A hundred percent sure.”

“I’m that good, huh?” Scratch asks.

“Yeah Nick,” Joey says. “You’re that good.”

“Don’t start calling me Nick all the time just because I kissed you,” Scratch says. “It’s going to be all weird if you’re calling me Nick in bed or some shit.”

“No, you’re Scratch in bed,” Joey says. “Itch that needs scratching or something.”

Scratch stares at him.

Joey grins back unapologetically.

“Wow,” Scratch says. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“Nope, can’t change your mind,” Joey says.

“Completely changed my mind,” Scratch says, though that’s kind of undermined by the way he’s grinning at Joey like a total loser. “Goodbye for—”

The dramatic kissing thing’s pretty fun, honestly. Scratch definitely doesn’t get to have dibs on it.

“I don’t remember what I was saying,” Scratch says when Joey pulls back. Not that he gets far, Scratch reeling him in by the belt loops, pressing a kiss to his forehead that feels simultaneously completely chaste and yet somehow electrifying? That’s a dangerous power for Scratch to have. Joey has given Scratch a dangerous amount of power. 

He feels pretty good about it.

“Something about how terrific I am?” Joey says.

“You _are_ pretty decent,” Scratch says.

Joey can’t stop smiling, which is probably strange considering tonight was one of the worst nights of his life until all of five minutes ago, and Scratch is grinning right back at him. Playoff Willy would be disgusted. More than disgusted. Enraged.

“If Playoff Willy knew we were capable of smiling right now I think he’d beat us to death with his bare hands,” Joey says. “Well. Hand.”

“Is he still Playoff Willy now that the playoffs are over?” Scratch says.

“Too soon,” Joey says. “Too soon to talk about losing.”

“You started it,” Scratch says.

Joey perhaps started it.

“Does it make me a terrible person that I’m happy right now?” Joey says. “Like. I might be sad in a minute, but.”

“It makes you a totally reasonable person,” Scratch says. “Though I may be biased because I’m pretty content right now.”

“Would have been better with a Cup,” Joey says.

“Yeah,” Scratch says. “But you promised me one next year.”

“I did promise that,” Joey says.

“No takebacks,” Scratch says.

“No takebacks,” Joey agrees.


End file.
